


house rules

by crooked



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 07:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crooked/pseuds/crooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a truth universally acknowledged that if you break the house rules, Combeferre will put you on the Naughty Step.</p>
            </blockquote>





	house rules

**Author's Note:**

> for [orestesgayandpyladesalsogay](http://orestesgayandpyladesalsogay.tumblr.com/post/60870543094/orestesgayandpyladesalsogay-combeferre-having-a)'s headcanon that i absolutely adored and had to write about!

Enjolras stands there, gaping at Combeferre. Combeferre and his Pointing Finger. "Are you serious?" he asks, incredulous. His gaze follows the direction of Combeferre's finger, to the dreaded and notorious Naughty Step. It's specifically the third step from the floor on the narrow staircase leading up to the loft. "You're putting _me_ in time-out?"

Combeferre is entirely serious, and he points his finger a second time. "You know the house rules, Enjolras," he says. "Five minutes. Go."

" _Five minutes_?! For having the audacity to voice my opinions?" Enjolras asks, his voice raising and his brow furrowing.

Combeferre remains calm, remains pointing. "Don't be ridiculous," he says. "You know me better than that. Anyway, if that was the case, you'd never leave that step. No, the five minutes is your sentence for refusing to listen to reason."

Enjolras throws his hands in the air in frustration. "Well, when that reason is flat-out _wrong_ —"

Combeferre is still pointing.

A little growl of frustration leaves Enjolras as he stomps over to the stairs, plopping down hard on the naughty step and folding his arms over his chest. The scowl on his face is so deep it may just end up staying there permanently. But he doesn't make a further sound. He stays there for five minutes, sulking harder than most would ever think it possible to sulk. He casts glances at Combeferre, who resolutely doesn't look at him once, but he mostly stares at the tips of his shoes.

When his five minutes are up, Enjolras pushes off the step and walks over to the sofa, where Combeferre is sitting with his feet up on the coffee table and his laptop propped on his knees. He sits down beside him, silent and still a bit petulant, and Combeferre turns to him with a little smile.

"Now. You were saying?"

\-----

Grantaire's first time on the naughty step is a completely different experience.

He and Enjolras are engaged in one of their usual heated arguments and Combeferre has wandered into the kitchen to root around in the fridge. He'd been an active participant in the conversation until something Grantaire said rubbed Enjolras the wrong way. Well, until something Grantaire said that directly challenged what Enjolras said rubbed him the wrong way. And now they've gone off on a tangent that isn't even related by this point.

When he comes back into the living room to rejoin them, Combeferre catches the tail end of an exchange that leaves Enjolras looking as if his head is about to explode. But Grantaire violates one of the rules and Combeferre has to step in.

"Straw man," he says, sitting down and biting into the apple he'd brought with him.

Enjolras, who was clearly preparing to launch a verbal volley right back at Grantaire, pauses and looks at him curiously. Grantaire does the same, but he says, "Cowardly Lion. What is this game we're playing?"

"No, straw man fallacy," Combeferre clarifies. "You used one just then. That's strictly prohibited, house rules. To the step."

Grantaire doesn't protest. He shrugs and gets up, retreats to the naughty step and lounges on it like it's the best seat in the house. Enjolras looks a little smug and continues the conversation with Combeferre. But so does Grantaire. He doesn't let the time-out stop him, interjecting here and there, mostly statements that are contrary to whatever it is Enjolras has just said. Serves him right for getting him in trouble.

Finally, Enjolras huffs and glares at him. "You're not supposed to talk when you're on the naughty step, R. That's the whole fucking point!"

"Yeah? Well, you're not the boss of me, Enjolras," Grantaire retorts. "And, frankly, I'm shocked that Mr Free WIll and Rights of the People would be trying to silence a man who is exercising his God-given rights to express himself."

Enjolras doesn't get to reply, as badly as he wants to, because Combeferre turns and fixes a gaze on Grantaire that turns the blood in his veins to ice. Grantaire clears his throat and rubs at the back of his neck, his expression sheepish as he shrinks back against the stair a bit.

"I think I'll exercise my right to shut the fuck up for a few minutes, though," he says, and he does.

\-----

Courfeyrac, of course, is the real problem child.

Movie night is at Combeferre's this week. Courf brings _But I'm a Cheerleader_ , even though he's seen it countless times and most everyone else has seen it at least once. Nobody minds, and once the popcorn is popped, they all begin the process of arranging themselves in various positons around the smallish living room.

Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta tangle up on the couch; Marius and Cosette and Éponine are on the floor just in front of the couch, Marius' arm around Cosette's shoulders and Éponine's head in her lap. Bahorel pushes the old, overstuffed wingchair over from under the window and Jehan deposits himself in his lap while Feuilly sits on the floor and leans against Bahorel's legs. Grantaire and Enjolras have stopped arguing long enough to grab two chairs from the kitchen and push them together, Grantaire leaning into Enjolras' side and Enjolras affectionately rolling his eyes as he hooks his leg over Grantaire's knee.  Combeferre lays on his stomach in front of the TV and isn't at all surprised to feel what he knows is Courfeyrac's head rest on the small of his back, his body making a right angle with his own.

Of course, given the subject of the movie, they don't even make it halfway through before they're all animatedly talking about the recent upholding of California's gay conversion therapy ban. And effectively drowning out the movie.

"It won't stand a chance in the Supreme Court, not now," Bahorel says, shaking his head.

"If it even makes it that far," Éponine adds.

Enjolras leans forward, resting a hand on Grantaire's thigh in the process. "I don't know," he says. "We're talking about minors, for one, and the freedom of speech and religion rights of the therapists and families who believe in this fucking bullshit. I just don't know that I'm ready to have that much faith in the Justices just yet. I mean, thanks for the step toward equality and all. But just because you give me a cupcake _one time_ doesn't mean I'm going to forget all the shit you made me eat before."

" _Oh my god_ ," Courfeyrac groans, sitting up. Everyone turns to look at him. "This is important, I know. Incredibly important. But the movie! Can't this wait? There's not even an hour left."

Combeferre doesn't have to say anything, and nether does anyone else for the moment. He sits up and looks at Courfeyrac, just a regular look and not even his withering gaze, and Courfeyrac sighs and gets up to find his place on the naughty step.

The conversation continues and he's left there for much longer than he's ever seen anyone else sit there. To make matters worse, Combeferre turns the TV off so he can't even entertain himself by watching the rest of the movie. Not like he'd hear it anyway. They're all talking loudly again and basically ignoring him and his epic pouting. Combeferre glances over from time to time, and that's when Courf turns it up a notch, putting on his very best and most effective puppy eyes. Nothing. The man is a rock.

After what feels like at least three movie lengths have passed, Courfeyrac notices that everyone is getting up and filing out. "Hey!" he says as Grantaire and Enjolras pass him on their way to the door. "What the fuck?" Enjolras just smiles at him and Grantaire cuffs him playfully on the chin. But they don't stop or remind Combeferre that he hasn't released Courfeyrac from his punishment.

Nobody does. They all have to pass him on their way out, and his frustrated queries of _are you_ seriously _just going to leave me here_ are all met with goodbyes and grins or laughter and pats on the head or shoulder and a forehead kiss from Jehan. His last hope, Feuilly, at least gives him a sympathetic shrug and mumbles _house rules_ as he bids him farewell.

Combeferre walks to the door with Feuilly and locks it behind him, coming to a stop in front of Courfeyrac. He stands with his arms crossed over his chest, his hip cocked and resting against the wall. Courfeyrac is so far beyond caring about the house rules that he pipes up before Combeferre can speak.

"This is some straight up bullshit, Combeferre," he protests, frowning angrily at him, still sitting on the third step. "My ass is numb! I didn't even do anything that bad! You're getting power hungry with this goddamn step."

Combeferre's expression doesn't change. He just looks down at Courfeyrac, an eyebrow raised slightly. "Are you finished?" he asks.

"No, I'm not finished!" Courfeyrac shoots back, genuine anger starting to flare in him. "I haven't even begun!"

And then Combeferre suddenly smirks and leans in close, much closer then Courfeyrac is prepared for. He leans back, out of instinct, until his spine is pressed to the stairs behind him and Combeferre adjusts by putting a knee on the step he's sitting on and practically looming over Courfeyrac. His lips are almost brushing Courf's mouth when Combeferre speaks, his tone low enough to make him shiver.

"Then I guess you haven't learned your lesson," he says. Combeferre leans the tiniest bit closer, and Courfeyrac thinks he's going to kiss him. His body arcs toward him in anticipation of it.

But Combeferre is gone before Courfeyrac knows what's happened, stepping over him and heading up to the loft. Courfeyrac sits there for a moment, not sure what to do. And then he hears, "You better be following me, Courf, or you'll be spending the night on that step instead of under me." Courfeyrac nearly breaks his neck scrambling up behind him.

By the time his back hits the mattress, Combeferre's naked body pining his own to the bed, Courfeyrac can't remember why he was ever in trouble in the first place. Or figure out how the way Combeferre is biting at the soft, sensitive flesh of his neck, how he's leaving no part of Courfeyrac unkissed or untouched, how the way he makes him writhe with pleasure is meant to constitute further punishment. And heaven knows what lesson this is supposed to teach him.

But hey, house rules.


End file.
